ADVANCE RE ADING COPY
OC TOBER 2021
Dear Reader, I’m very excited that, after a hiatus of several years, Ottawa Police Inspector Michael Green has returned for his eleventh outing. He’s five years older, out of Major Crimes, and languishing in an administrative post he hates. The world is just emerging from the pandemic that has left livelihoods shattered and relationships crumbling. Much has changed in Ottawa Major Crimes, and although some of my favourite characters are still around, The Devil to Pay introduces two youthful new ones and shines a spotlight on Green’s daughter Hannah, now a rookie patrol officer. In the opening scene, Hannah responds to a domestic abuse 911 call involving a wealthy lawyer. The case is downplayed, with tragic consequences. Green’s efforts to protect his daughter draw him deep into the mystery. Making Inspector Green older and disillusioned and bringing his daughter on board allowed me to explore his human side – his doubts, disappointments, and needs – and develop a moving story different from the classic police procedural, focussed more on youth, rookie mistakes, and a woman’s take on police work. All while the pandemic had turned everyone’s world upside down. The Devil to Pay is about good intentions on the road to hell. I hope you enjoy it.
THE DEVIL TO PAY AN INSPECTOR GREEN MYSTERY #11 Barbara Fradkin Impetuous, exasperating Ottawa Police Inspector Michael Green returns and unwittingly puts his daughter, a rookie patrol officer, in the line of fire. Publication: CANADA October 19, 2021 | U.S. November 16, 2021
FORMAT 5 in (W) 8 in (H) 392 pages
Paperback 978-1-4597-4384-7 Can $19.99 US $16.99 £13.99
EPUB 978-1-4597-4386-1 Can $6.99 US $6.99 £4.99
PDF 978-1-4597-4385-4 Can $19.99 US $16.99 £13.99
KEY SELLING POINTS A classic police procedural for readers of Louise Penny, Peter Robinson, and Gail Bowen Eleventh novel in the popular Inspector Green series featuring a passionate, fallible,
and complex sleuth on the Ottawa police force
Series has earned rave reviews: “In a modern crime fiction universe in which
protagonists are expected to have weaknesses as well as strengths and to portray a full range of human characteristics, Barbara Fradkin’s Inspector Michael Green has always been among the most, well, human.” (London Free Press) Author is a two-time winner of the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Novel and a psychologist who combines her professional insights to create compelling, believable mysteries
BISAC FIC022020 – FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Police Procedural FIC022040 – FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths FIC050000 – FICTION / Crime
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Barbara Fradkin is a retired psychologist who is fascinated with why people turn bad. She is the author of the Amanda Doucette series and the critically acclaimed Inspector Green novels, two of which have won the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Novel: Fifth Son and Honour Among Men. She lives in Ottawa.
InspectorGreenMystery
barbarafradkin.com
@BarbaraFradkin
For those who like a solid classic mystery with added character, Inspector Green is perfect. — Globe and Mail
MARKETING AND PUBLICITY Consumer, trade, and wholesaler advertising campaign Social media campaign targeting mystery readers Newsletter campaign to consumers, librarians, and booksellers Goodreads giveaway
Publicity campaign to targeted to mystery media and influencers Representation at trade shows and library conferences Digital galley available: NetGalley, Edelweiss, Catalist
RIGHTS World, All Languages Sidelined to administrative duties, Inspector Michael Green misses the thrill of the chase. So when his daughter Hannah, now a rookie patrol officer, responds to a 911 call about a domestic disturbance in a wealthy suburban neighbourhood, he is intrigued. Both husband and wife deny a problem and, despite Hannah’s doubts, no further police action is taken, but Green encourages her to dig deeper on her own. When the husband disappears and his car is found at the airport, the police conclude he is simply fleeing an unhappy home, a floundering law practice, and a mountain of debt. Until a body is discovered. While Green’s old friend Brian Sullivan investigates the victim’s work and family, Hannah is haunted by fear that her actions precipitated the murder. On her own time, she begins to dig into questions that linger at the periphery of the case. What has happened to the family dog, which disappeared the same night as the husband? And who is the odd, solitary young Ph.D. student who was researching ducks near the murder site? Her relentless search for answers leads her into the countryside, straight into the path of danger. And another body.
For more information, contact publicity@dundurn.com Orders in Canada: UTP Distribution 1-800-565-9523 Orders in the US: Ingram Publisher Services 1-866-400-5351
dundurn.com @dundurnpress
THE DEVIL TO PAY
Inspector Green Mysteries Do or Die Once Upon a Time Mist Walker Fifth Son Honour Among Men Dream Chasers This Thing of Darkness Beautiful Lie the Dead The Whisper of Legends None So Blind The Devil to Pay
BARBARA
FRADKIN THE DEVIL TO PAY A N I N S P E C TO R G R E E N M Y S T E R Y
Copyright © Barbara Fradkin, 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright. All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Publisher and acquiring editor: Scott Fraser | Editor: Allister Thompson Cover designer: Sophie Paas-Lang Cover image: XXX Printer: Marquis Book Printing Inc. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: The devil to pay / Barbara Fradkin. Names: Fradkin, Barbara, 1947- author. Series: Fradkin, Barbara Fraser, 1947- Inspector Green mystery. Description: Series statement: An Inspector Green mystery Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20210244836 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210244844 | ISBN 9781459743847 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459743854 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459743861 (EPUB) Classification: LCC PS8561.R23 D49 2021 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada. Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions. The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content unless they are owned by the publisher. Printed and bound in Canada. Dundurn Press 1382 Queen Street East Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 1C9 dundurn.com, @dundurnpress
For the women in my life
Chapter One
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heir in-car computer screen lit up with a whoosh just as her partner was shouting their orders into the speaker at the Tim Hortons drive-through. A BLT and medium double double for her, and a crispy chicken combo with a large double double for him. Another awesome dinner on the job. Hannah read the alert. “Unit 3206A, 10-55 at 26 Lake Point Road. Two-person call.” “Ah-ha,” Rick said, “10-55. What’s that?” “Domestic disturbance.” Hannah leaned forward to type a reply just as a large black F-150 pulled into line behind them. “Tell them we’ll be a moment.” She glanced across at him in surprise. At 8:58 on a sticky evening in late May, dusk was just leaching colour from the sky. The street lights had come on in the parking lot, splashing puddles of light into the gloom and carving sharp angles into his tired face. Rick was a cop with twenty-six years on the street, assigned as her coach officer to teach her the ropes. Twenty-six years of responding to calls like this day in and day out. Were they just a number to him now?
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He flicked his hand at the line ahead. “We’re not going anywhere. Plus, we need to eat or we’ll be no good for the rest of the shift. Lesson number one, Pollack, take care of yourself first.” “We could jump the curb.” He gave her a slow smile, that annoying one he saved for special moments when he was sharing his superior wisdom. His superior experience. “Tell them we’re blocked in a line at Tim Hortons so we’ll be a couple of minutes.” “It’s a domestic,” she said. “Five minutes tops. Ask Dispatch if anyone else is available.” Hannah cringed but did as she was told. She kept her mouth shut as they crawled forward in the line, just handed over her ten-dollar bill and took the sandwich he passed to her. Barely a spare word had passed between them all shift. Maybe if she’d been one of his buddies, they would have talked about the NHL playoffs, but the twenty-five-year age gap between them, not to mention the gender gap, was too big for him to leap. The screen lit again, asking if they were on their way. Rick took a swig of his coffee and shut his eyes. “Tell her we’re responding. What was that address again?” “It’s 26 Lake Point Road.” Hannah scrolled through the details. “It’s a detached residence owned by Edward McAuley, report of screaming called in by a neighbour, Philip Walker, at 24 Lake Point.” With a sigh, Rick put the cruiser in gear and accelerated out of the parking lot. “Lights?” Hannah asked. 2
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He shook his head as he pulled onto Carling Avenue and stomped on the accelerator. “That’s a quiet, high-end neighbourhood. Low crime. No need to go in with sirens and lights blazing. But check out the owner while we’re en route. Domestics can be tricky, and his name rings a bell.” Hannah was already pulling Edward McAuley up on their internal database. “He’s pretty clean,” she said as she scanned. “He called 911 once when his daughter broke her arm, another time he was witness to an MVA, two noise complaints against him by a neighbour for loud parties —” “Same neighbour?” Hannah nodded. “Philip Walker. And another complaint from Walker about destruction of property.” She tried to make sense of the brief note. “Looks like McAuley cut down his tree.” Rick grunted. He was shooting down Carling Avenue, wide open at that time of the evening. On his right, the broad Ottawa River sparkled in the emerging moonlight as they passed the sailing club. Hannah loved the many faces of the legendary river that began far to the north and coursed through the city on toward the St. Lawrence. At some points of the city, it hurtled through rapids, but here it spread out as wide and gentle as a lake. Rick slowed briefly to glance at the GPS. “Run the neighbour’s name. He may be a chronic complainer.” Hannah entered the new name. “Not much. The same complaint entries, plus a 911 call on December thirty-first last year — his wife collapsed. Paramedics treated on scene, deceased.” She stopped as the human story behind the cold, sparse notes sank in. She thought 3
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of her grandfather, who had never recovered his joy after his wife’s death years earlier. This man’s wife had died in their home on New Year’s Eve, not even six months ago. Rick eased his foot off the gas as he turned off Carling Avenue onto a narrow residential street. In the growing darkness, the houses were barely visible on spacious lots behind tall, lush trees. “So he’s grieving,” he said. “He may be extra sensitive. We’ll check out the McAuley house before we talk to him.” As they rounded a bend, 26 Lake Point Road loomed ahead in a blaze of lights on the quiet street. There were security lights at every corner that cast the shrubs into eerie webs on the fieldstone walls, and a porch light burnished the expensive columns on either side of the front stoop. Hannah wondered if they were marble. Even by the standards of the street, it was a huge house. A silver Lexus SUV and a blood-red Mercedes coupe sat in front of the two-car garage, and at the edge of the drive was a speedboat on a boat trailer. Behind the trailer were several pallets of patio stones and a pile of crushed stone. The fancy house was about to get fancier. They climbed out of the cruiser and stood a moment. “What do you see here, Pollack?” Hannah took stock. “Blinds are drawn on all the windows. Huge windows but you can’t see inside. Security lights everywhere.” Someone hiding from prying eyes, she thought, but kept the speculation to herself. Rick was a “just the facts, ma’am” kind of guy. She listened for screams but heard nothing but the chirp of crickets and frogs. Through the trees, she caught the shimmer of the river 4
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behind the house. “No sound of fighting. Some serious money here, though.” He nodded and pulled on his mask as he started up the drive. “I’ll handle the beginning, and you take the wife. Okay?” The bell rang through the house, setting up a high- pitched yapping inside. A man shouted at the dog, to no avail. After a delay, during which Hannah suspected they were being sized up on video cam, the door opened to reveal a man dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops. He’d made no effort to put on a mask. Although he wasn’t tall, he was well muscled and reeked of confidence — the kind of confidence that comes with owning a two-million- dollar waterfront home and tooling around in a Mercedes coupe. A few strands of gray at his temples lent an air of dignity to his blond, boyish good looks, and his blue eyes were sharp. Rick sucked in his gut. Somewhere inside, the dog continued to yap. “Good evening, Officers,” Ted said with an easy smile. “What brings you out to our quiet neck of the woods?” Rick introduced himself. “Mr. Edward McAuley?” “Guilty. What can I do for you?” “We received a call —” Rick began but was drowned out by the barking. The man’s blue eyes flickered, and with a sigh, he turned back inside. “Krissy, honey, could you quiet the dog? The police are here about something.” There was no reply from inside, but the barking stopped. Hannah strained to see past the man into the 5
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hall, but he was blocking her view. “Sorry about that, Constable … Geneva, was it? Your name’s familiar.” “Geneva, yes, and this is Constable Pollack. We’re responding to a complaint about a disturbance at this address.” “Disturbance? What kind of disturbance?” “Shouting, screaming, sounds of things breaking. This occurred about eight fifty p.m.” “Well, I can’t think …” He snapped his fingers. “I know you! Constable Geneva. Rick, right? You investigated a traffic injury case I was handling for one of the parties. You did a good job, if I recall. A very thorough report.” He chuckled. “It helped my client win a lot of money.” Rick smiled. “Right, I recognize you now. I hope that poor man is recovering.” “Well, he’ll never be the same, but the money helps. Now, about this shouting and screaming. I mean, my wife and I had a bit of an argument over doing the dishes. We probably raised our voices. That’s what happens when two excitable people marry — I’m Irish and she’s Latina, so …” He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “We forget that we’re not really out in the country here, and with the windows open …” “So everything is all right, Mr. McAuley?” “Ted, for God’s sake. Yeah, yeah.” “Who lives here in the house with you?” “My wife, Kristina, and my two children. Daughter is seventeen, and she’s always in her room with her headphones on, so she wouldn’t hear a thing. And my son is only three. He’s fallen asleep watching TV in the family 6
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room. In fact, there might have been screaming on the TV, too. You know how these shows are.” Ted peered past them into the drive. He still hadn’t invited them in, and the humid outside air was drifting into the house. “I’m guessing it was my neighbour who complained. Philip Walker? What exactly did he say?” “We’ll be interviewing him next.” “Oh. Well, go easy on him. He’s really a very nice man, but he’s going through a rough time right now. His wife died suddenly this winter of a brain aneurysm, and he’s in the place alone. It’s probably too much for him — too empty, too many memories. I don’t appreciate him calling you guys on me, but I guess he …” He trailed off, his voice tinged with regret, his hand already on the doorknob. Rick made no move. “So everything is okay here?” “Yes. You’re welcome to come in to see.” Rick cocked his head at Hannah, her cue to take over. Taking in a breath, she stepped forward. “I’d like to speak to your wife, please. Protocol, to confirm her side?” He gave her a faint smile and turned back. “Krissy, have you got a minute to talk to the police?” A woman’s voice could be heard in the distance, and a few seconds later, a tall woman glided down the hall, cradling a little mop of a dog in her arms. The dog growled, and she quieted it with a soft whisper. Kristina had a messy tangle of black curls piled on her head and a ragged caftan robe that covered her from her neck to her toes. Her face betrayed no emotion as she met her husband’s eyes. 7
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“It seems Philip called the police again,” Ted said, reaching out to stroke the dog. “Oh.” The dog growled again, and as Ted withdrew his hand, Hannah noticed a scratch on his arm. “Nasty scratch,” she said. “How did you get it?” Beside her, Rick shifted but didn’t interrupt. She knew it was off script but appropriate. Ted glanced at his arm as if he was surprised to see the scratch. Droplets of blood had beaded along the wound. “Oh, it opened up again. I scratched it on some branches biking home from the office. They really ought to trim the brush along the river path.” Rick grinned. “Not our department.” Hannah ignored the banter. “Can you confirm that, Mrs. McAuley?” The woman’s face remained expressionless. “Yes. I mean, I didn’t see the accident, but that’s what he said when he got home.” “Can I have a few words inside, Mrs. McAuley?” “No.” Kristina glanced quickly back down the hall. “I mean … I don’t want to upset my son. He’s having trouble settling for the night.” “Then can we step outside for a moment?” When Kristina glanced at her husband, Hannah touched her elbow. “Just while Rick and your husband finish up the formalities.” Kristina was already backing up inside, pressing the dog close. “No, that’s not necessary. Everything is fine. I shouldn’t leave Peter …” Hannah studied Kristina carefully. There were no bruises or red marks, no sign of recent tears, but the 8
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damn caftan hid almost everything. She was refusing to talk to them, and they had nothing to go on. Except Philip Walker’s word. Rick was already thanking them for their time and preparing to leave. On the doorstep, standing in the harsh porch light, Ted called out, “What happens now?” “After we take Mr. Walker’s statement, we’ll write it up. Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on him.” Ted nodded. “Thank you.”
Philip Walker had an older, smaller house that was barely visible through the jungle of shrubbery. An archway through the cedar hedge led them to an inner yard exploding with plants. The sweet scent of lilacs filled the air. A dim porch sconce cast a weak light on the flagstone path, but Hannah turned on her flashlight to get a sense of their surroundings. It was chaos. Tall trees spread their boughs overhead, filtering the sprinkle of stars. Bird feeders swayed from the lower limbs, and lilac bushes heavy with flowers arched over flower beds bright with irises and bleeding hearts. Blue forget-me-nots popped up everywhere. Sharon would love this, she thought. Her father didn’t know a cactus from a tulip, but her stepmother painstakingly coaxed beautiful flowers out of every corner of their garden. “You coming?” Rick was already on the doorstep, ringing the bell. Hannah switched off her flashlight and scurried up. “This time just take notes and let me do the talking unless I give you the nod,” he muttered. 9
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She bit back a retort. It wasn’t her fault Kristina had refused to co-operate. Her quick temper had landed her in trouble lots of times in the past, and she was determined not to screw up this job. Rick was always hinting that she’d got the job only because she was a woman and her father was a senior officer. Much as she hated it, if she wanted to prove herself, she had to follow his rules, even when they were dumb. She’d be free of him in a few weeks when the coaching period was over. The door opened, and the man who greeted them looked concerned but unafraid. Hannah had been expecting an elderly man sapped of strength and will, but Philip Walker looked surprisingly young to be a widower. He stood straight and strong, his dark salt-and-pepper hair cut short and his brown eyes steady. His nod was firm and confident when Rick introduced them. “Please come in, Officers. I assume you cops are all vaccinated? Can I get you a cold drink? Perrier, ice tea?” He chuckled. “Nothing stronger, I guess.” He was already heading down the hall. Rick declined and hesitated on the threshold, about to take off his shoes. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Walker said. “I’m in and out of the garden all the time. If my furniture can’t take a little dirt, it’s not worth having.” In the living room, Hannah could see his point. Everything was old, frayed, and battered. There were water rings on the tables and mismatched throws to cover the worn spots on the couch. China figurines and photographs cluttered the tables, collecting dust.
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“I don’t believe in throwing things out as long as they work,” he said, tossing aside a cushion so they could sit. “Our landfills are piled high with perfectly serviceable possessions discarded just because we want something new. Most of this is from my wife’s childhood home, so it harbours memories.” He took a deep breath. “But enough of that. You’re here about the 911 call, I assume. Is she all right?” Rick kept his face deadpan. “Can you take me through it, Mr. Walker? What you saw and heard?” Hannah took out her notebook. “I didn’t see anything. Their blinds are always drawn, and in any case I have too many bushes in the way. But I heard them. I keep my windows open when it’s warm like this. I love the breeze off the Ottawa River and the sound of crickets and frogs.” “What did you hear?” “Screaming. Swearing, shouting.” “Him or her?” “Both. Well, her more than him. Her voice is shrill when she’s angry.” “Could you make out anything they said?” “I heard him say ‘useless’ —” He paused and glanced at Hannah. “We’ve heard it all, Mr. Walker,” Hannah said. And used it even more, she thought but kept her eyes on her notebook. He tightened his lips. “He called her a useless cunt. Sick, crazy, always going off like a fucking volcano. I’m
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sorry, I hate vulgar language. He said she couldn’t even run a house properly, and she was messing up their son. Although he said fucking up.” “Anything else?” “She was so loud and shrill, it was hard to make out what she said. I did hear her say ‘I hate you, don’t you dare,’ lots of disjointed nonsense. ‘No. Stop.’ And then a really loud crash.” “Like what?” “Something heavy hitting the wall? A pot or a lamp, maybe? I think they were in the kitchen, which is on this side of the house.” “Did the fight continue after the crash?” “Yes. I heard screaming and thumping.” Rick paused to study him. “Did it sound like screams of pain?” “That’s difficult to tell, isn’t it? Pain, fear? Maybe even rage.” He looked down at his hands, which had formed fists. “I’m sorry, that’s not very helpful.” “It’s all helpful, Mr. Walker,” Rick said with surprising softness. “His screams or hers?” “Hers. Then a door slammed, and that was the end of it. I thought it was too quiet. I even went outside to check if I could hear or see anything else. Nothing. I got worried. That’s when I called 911.” Rick stood up. “Can you show me where you were in the house when you heard the fight?” They followed Philip into the kitchen, which was clean except for a small pile of dishes in soapy water in the sink and a single empty wineglass on the counter. He stood at the open window over the sink and pointed 12
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outside. “I was just starting my cleanup. When I turned off the tap, I heard it.” Hannah peered out the window. Philip was right; the thick cedar hedge blocked his view of the McAuley property. She could see the bright security lights through the hedge but no details. Rick returned to the living room. “Mr. Walker, why did you call 911?” When the man looked baffled, he added, “Was it the noise? I know it’s a quiet neighbourhood.” Philip’s brows pinched together in an irritated frown. “No. I didn’t like the noise, but I called because I was worried about her.” “Had you any other reason for that worry? Had she confided in you? Had you ever witnessed any violence before or seen any suspicious injuries?” Philip hesitated. He seemed to be sizing Rick up, taking in the wide cop stance and the implacable set of his jaw. “Nothing I can swear to. But they fight a lot. I don’t think it’s a happy marriage.” He paused. “When they first moved here, my wife and I tried to be friendly. It’s a very secluded community — just a few streets along the river — and everybody has always stood together. But Kristina kept to herself. He was friendly enough at first, but then they started renovating and building that huge addition. It’s way too big for the property. They took down all the beautiful old trees and ploughed the gardens under. We tried to protest, all the neighbours did. The house blocked the light, the sunset, and our view of the river. But we lost. He’s a lawyer, you know, and he knew all the ins and outs. After that, it’s been much less cordial.” 13
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“With everyone or just you?” He flushed. “Well, I’m the one most affected. That monster is right on my doorstep!” Rick studied him thoughtfully for a few seconds. Hannah could almost see him putting the pieces together to form a picture that discounted Philip Walker completely. Sure enough, he rose to his feet, thanked him, and headed for the door. Back outside in the cruiser, she flipped through her notes. “Should I write it up for Partner Assault?” He shook his head. “No, I’ll do it, but it won’t be a priority for them. There’s nothing there.” “There was a violent fight, and the neighbour obviously thinks something is going on.” “That neighbour is biased. His conclusions would be laughed out of court.” “But the couple are secretive. Every window is covered.” “Maybe that’s because nobody likes them in the neighbourhood.” “But —” “Look what we have. It doesn’t even come close to reasonable grounds. Shouting, mostly her. Screams, mostly hers. One visible injury, and that’s to him. If anything, we could be charging her with assault.” Hannah turned her impressions over in her mind. The husband’s aw-shucks, buddy-buddy explanations, the caftan that covered everything, the wife’s expressionless face. The dog. “There’s the dog.” Rick snorted. “What about the dog?” 14
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“I have a dog. I mean there’s a dog at my parents’. She was a rescue who’d been traumatized. Dogs don’t hide their feelings. That dog wasn’t friendly, especially to the husband. It was tense and fearful. It was quiet in the wife’s arms, but when the husband went to pet it, it snarled.” Rick buckled up and started the cruiser. “Seriously? You want me to push a case based on a dog? The Partner Assault Unit is swamped. They review literally thousands of cases a year. Cases with merit.” Hannah’s temper flared. Always a bad idea when you’re a rookie policewoman still on probation. “We don’t need certainty. We don’t even need reasonable grounds. If it’s a domestic disturbance, it goes to Partner Assault.” “And it will. Don’t tell me what procedure is, Hannah. This is our job every day — messy, contradictory statements, hunches, always the danger of being wrong. We’re talking about Edward T. McAuley, personal injury lawyer. I’ve seen him in court. You don’t want to be wrong.”
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